


Interior Design for Couples

by Amelia_Clark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: "mancave" is such an awful term but I know in my heart Dean would use it, Anal Sex, Bottom!Cas, Bunker Fic, Domesticity, M/M, Nesting, Oral Sex, PWP, Schmoop, Topping from the Bottom, gratuitous Misha tummy, human!Cas, post s9, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is definitely not what they're supposed to be doing, but as usual, Dean's attempts at distraction are extremely persuasive. The current distraction—Dean's lush mouth, worrying a mark into the flesh of his abdomen, Dean's calloused fingers, slipping beneath layers of cloth to stroke up the ridge of his cock—aims to avoid an ongoing disagreement about living room decor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interior Design for Couples

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jessi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessi/gifts).



> For my fandom swim buddy. Happiest birthday, sweet pea! Hope this is schmoopy enough for ya.
> 
> Pre-porn premise courtesy of my husband, who should really start a fic prompt Tumblr.

"Dean—mmm, ooh—this is not what we're supposed to be doing."

Dean doesn't answer, as his mouth is occupied; he's on his knees in front of Cas, nibbling at his stomach, a pinch of teeth here, a flick of tongue there, while he slowly unbuttons his fly. Backed into the wall, Cas lets his head fall back, braces his palms on either side of him. Dean's tongue dips beneath his waistband, licks across to his hips, where he bites down gently at the jut of bone, and then moves back to nose at his tummy just above the exposed elastic of his boxers, Cas's hardening cock nudging at his throat.

This is definitely not what they're supposed to be doing, but as usual, Dean's attempts at distraction are extremely persuasive. The current distraction—Dean's lush mouth, worrying a mark into the flesh of his abdomen, Dean's calloused fingers, slipping beneath layers of cloth to stroke up the ridge of his cock—aims to avoid an ongoing disagreement about living room decor. 

Well, neither of them wants a living room per se, which is in fact the problem. The whole thing was Sam's idea: after the nth time walking in on them in flagrante in communal areas of the bunker (library, kitchen, dungeon, coat closet), he offered an ultimatum disguised as a compromise. "We'll clear out a storeroom, OK? You'll have a second room that belongs to just the two of you. If you really can't confine your...urges to the bedroom, that place'll be yours, and it'll have a door, and I will _never ever go there._ And you can for the love of God stop fucking on surfaces I have to eat off of."

So the three of them spent the better part of a week clearing boxes of arcane artifacts and even more arcane files out of a decent-sized space near Dean and Cas's bedroom. The only furniture so far is a threadbare wingback chair that Sam declared theirs after he caught them in it one morning, Dean riding Cas for all he was worth under the cover of his Men of Letters robe. ("Thank God for small favors," the younger Winchester muttered as he backed swiftly out of the library.)

But they can't agree on what else they want. Dean's doggedly insistent on creating what he refers to as a "man cave," despite the face Cas makes when he does so. He wants recliners, surround sound, a PS4, and the more he elaborates the more he sounds like an ten-year-old after a whole bag of Skittles: "We'll get a Kegerator for this corner, and in this one, a foosball table! No, a pinball machine! There was this sweet-ass KISS pinball machine at this bar in Peoria, I banged the bartender on it after they closed. Maybe we can find one of those. And over here, hmm, an aquarium. Fish are manly, right? Ooh, piranhas would be fuckin' awesome! We'll get piranhas!"

Cas pointed out, calmly at first but with gradually increasing irritation, that he doesn't know how to play videogames or foosball or pinball, and that he does not enjoy stories about Dean banging bartenders. What he envisions is simple to the point of minimalism: white walls, bright lights, pillows on the floor for sitting or reclining. An aquarium is acceptable, but no fish, just the soothing sound of flowing water. "A meditative space in which to commune with the divine," he said solemnly.

"Hippie bullshit," said Dean.

"Dean, I gave up my grace for love of you, to remain human by your side. I need a place to remind me of Heaven, of who I used to be, before I lose all memory of it."

"Dammit, Cas, you don't just get to win every argument with that! You chose to stay!"

"Well, you can't win every argument with blow jobs."

“Wanna bet?”

Now Dean’s working his pants down over his hips, his mouth hot and wet on the head of Cas's cock through the thin fabric of his underwear. Cas reaches to tug them down as well, but Dean swats his hand away, picks at the waistband with his teeth and snaps it a few times before he relents and frees Cas’s hard-on to the air and the warm promise of his breath.

Dean lets out a pleased hum as he guides Cas's cock to his mouth and slides down over it, hollowing his cheeks for a burst of suction that makes Cas slap at the wall in satisfaction. Dean's always been a giver, ignoring his own needs in favor of pleasing others—and while his relationship with Cas is finally breaking some of that down, Cas has to admit that Dean's compulsive altruism makes for some truly spectacular head.

"Fuck, Dean," moans Cas at a particularly clever swirl of tongue, and Dean pulls off with a slurp, his hand keeping up a teasing rhythm.

"Happy to, angel," he purrs. "How do you want it? Spin you around, slide in slow, pound you into the wall until your knees buckle? Or quick and dirty down here on the floor? You know, if we got a pool table in here, I could spread you across it, tongue you open like I did on the map table last week..."

"Dean, you are _impossible,"_ Cas says between clenched teeth, and when Dean just grins and sinks his own into the softest part of Cas's belly, just below his navel, he surges forward, knocking Dean onto his back and trapping his thighs under his knees, his wrists with tight-gripped hands.

"Take off your clothes," he orders, and releases him, quickly divesting himself of the garments bunched around his ankles. Dean shucks his pants first, and pulls his T-shirt over his head while Cas rummages through his jeans for the packets of lube he knows are stashed in at least one pocket. (They tucked them away in drawers at first, but the bunker has a _lot_ of rooms, and Dean had been determined to christen them all before Sam interfered.)

Cas crawls back on top, reaches a hand behind him to start working himself open. “Hey, I wanna watch,” Dean whines. “Please, baby, you’re so hot like this, fucking your own fingers, lemme see.”

Cas shakes his head. “Not today. But you can help if you’d like.” Dean would like, obviously, and so they stretch him together, fingers sliding slick against each other’s while their tongues do the same above. 

Having been fucked into the mattress for the better part of last night, Cas is soon ready. He lines up and sinks down, one inch, two, and stops. Dean opens his eyes, puzzled, and tries to thrust up further; instead, Cas seizes his hipbones and holds them still, hooks his shins over Dean's thighs again to pin them down, knees tight against his sides. Dean's probably got more upper body strength, sure, but Cas runs with Sam in the mornings now, and his legs are powerful. He's got Dean right where he wants him, mindless with anticipation, desperate to bury himself deeper. And as much as Cas wants it too, he's not above exploiting the situation.

"We can get an aquarium," he says calmly, ignoring the way his body aches for Dean’s, "but no piranhas."

"What?" gasps Dean. 

“I’m willing to consider other fish, if you have ideas.”

 _“Fish?!_ What—why—can we talk about this _later?_ Now is not the time.” His hands come up to clutch at Cas’s ass and endeavor to force him down.

Muscles taut with effort, Cas holds his position, panting out, “Now seems like a perfect time to me.” Dean whimpers and settles his hands on his waist, abandoning any attempt to move him.

“Fish. You want me to think about fish with my cock half in you.” Cas nods. “Dammit, _you’re_ the one who’s impossible.” Dean squinches eyes shut in thought. “Angelfish,” he blurts. “Fucking angelfish, you can have them in aquariums, that’s what we’ll get. Now _fuck me,_ for the love of—for the love of _everything,_ come on, Cas, please.”

He could probably obtain more concessions, continue this thing called "compromise" that was supposedly so important in human relationships—but Cas only has human patience now, after all, and he’s torturing himself as much as Dean. With a guttural moan, he lets gravity and lust take over, grinding himself down until Dean’s cock fills him to its base.

Cas rolls his hips steadily, drunk on sensation. At first, his palms are splayed over Dean’s ribs, until he arches up and gathers Cas onto his chest, kissing his mouth and his neck and the planes of his face as if he’ll dies if he stops.

It’s always like this, a two-man apocalypse. They call it love, when they call it anything; to Cas, it seems bigger than that, elemental, primal, epic. Like walking on the ocean floor, like curling up inside a beating heart. Like feeling the first light of a newborn star on the wings he no longer has.

He thinks he’s saying all of this in Dean’s ear, but he doesn’t know whether he’s speaking English or Enochian or a language dead for millennia. Dean’s just making meaningless sounds, fucking up into him with all he has, one hand between them stroking his cock.

“Dean,” Cas gasps as he comes; it means _I need you_ and _I love you_ and _I waited for you so long_ —and Dean knows that by now. More importantly, he believes it.

Cas misses Dean’s orgasm entirely, coming back to himself in the aftermath. “Oh, angel,” Dean is crooning. “Oh, my angel.”

“Not anymore,” says Cas, and there’s no regret in his voice. “Now I’m your man.”


End file.
